AN ALBINO DEER. 



W. H. N. 



On a bright, crisp morning in October, 

 1891, we were hunting deer in the Craw- 

 ford Notch. We were in joyous mood. 

 To climb the mountains, to view their 



ALBINO DEER. 



Supposed to be in the transitory state. From mounted 

 specimen. Photo kindly loaned by B. W. Kilburn. 



mighty chasms, to touch them in their soli- 

 tude and feel that for the moment they 

 were ours, was an inspiration; and when in 

 addition anticipation of the chase light- 

 ened our steps, sharpened our senses and 

 magnified the surrounding glories of nat- 

 ure — what more could we wish? 



In choosing our hunting ground little 

 did we think we should see the majesty 

 of the silent hills rivaled by the beauty of a 

 living creature. Bing and Leader had 

 that day as noble a quarry as ever dogs 

 chased; and so quickly did the hunt begin 



that we could hardly accept their call as in 

 earnest. Soon there could be no doubt. 

 Clear rose the music of the baying hounds, 

 a round of notes and echoes, bounding 

 from side to side against the rocky walls 

 of the notch. Away it sped into the dis- 

 tance, growing fainter and fainter until 

 nearly lost to hearing; then swelled again, 

 and we knew the chase had turned. The 

 stiain ebbed and flowed, but every mo- 

 ment came nearer. Then steady and 

 strong, louder at every leap, confident and 

 earnest — the music swept down the glen 

 toward us. Was it instinct or strategy 

 that shaped the course of the deer? With 

 a sudden turn it broke away, for the river, 

 and took to the water far below us. 



Panting from our rush down the moun- 

 tain side, we reached the bank and found 

 the dogs working as for life, to untangle 

 the thread so cunningly snarled, and to dis- 

 cover where the pursued had left the water. 

 Silently and patiently they worked, circling 

 and dashing here and there, until from a 

 thicket, a snow-white deer flashed and 

 sped away. Was it a living thing that took 

 such bounds? Over bush and brake it 

 went, and for a moment we were spell- 

 bound — pausing between scrutiny and won- 

 der. 



With such a flight, we could not wait 

 for admiration and mercy to contend with 

 us, and with a flash and a sharp report 

 the deadly rifle destroyed God's handiwork. 

 The albino deer — a masterpiece of animal 

 creation — a moment since full of life and 

 spirit of grace and gentleness, lay dead 

 before us. Another graceful, gentle, harm- 

 less creature had fallen a victim to that 

 primeval lust of slaughter which yet cor- 

 rodes the hearts of men. O sportsman! 

 where is your heart that you can do these 

 things? Where is your love for Nature, 

 that you can blot out the only life given to 

 a beautiful and innocent creature? 



CANADIAN FISHING. 



JOHN BOYD. 



One morning in July, '96, 2 men might 

 have been seen hauling sundry packages 

 of camp dunnage, provisions and other 

 truck, to one of the railway stations in To- 

 ronto. This was one of the preliminaries 

 to a much-talked-of outing to the famous 



Sparrow lake. Ed. C , an all-round 



hunter and angler, was one; I the other. 



One inexperienced in the ways of camp- 

 ing might have thought we were provid- 



ing for an exploration to the Arctic circle, 

 and that the population of a whole school- 

 section was to go with us, but, we were 

 taking our families; in all, a party of 8. 



We traveled by rail to Severn station, 

 where a snug little steamer was ready to 

 take us down the beautiful Severn river, 

 to Sparrow lake. Night found us com- 

 fortably ensconced under canvas. 



The following morning we were out 



"3 



